


run (away with) me like your qp(c)r

by Anonymous



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexuality, Fluff, Gen, Humor, K-pop References, Laboratories, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Science Bros, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, squish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Zuko thinks he's found something squishy with the new guy in the lab, but it's difficult to put into words.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 164
Collections: Anonymous





	run (away with) me like your qp(c)r

**Author's Note:**

> for foxxy.
> 
> was this fic an excuse for me to project my lab experiences on zuko ~~and to make one heckuva terrible pun~~? ~~yes~~ no, of course not C:
> 
> unbeta'd as always; all mistakes are mine

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Zuko’s guilty pleasure is listening to K-pop while doing benchwork.

(And please, for the love of all things good and right in the world, do _not_ tell Azula. Agni knows just how much dirt she already has on her older brother.)

There’s just something about the poppy and raucous nature of the music that makes the time go by faster and helps Zuko tune out the sounds of the outside world. (Which is very helpful, considering how Jet from two benches down is prone to screaming whenever he accidentally drops broken glassware in the regular trash instead of the sharps bin.) Zuko doesn’t really listen to K-pop under any other circumstances, but he thinks Korean is a very relaxing language to listen to while working.

He’s ten micrometers deep into mixing up yet another aliquot and two minutes into _Boy With Luv_ (and damn, does Halsey have a nice voice) when he feels a slight tap on his shoulder and spies a tan hand descending into his line of vision.

 _No gloves?_ _Really? And in a lab?_

(Zuko’s always been a stickler for following the rules.)

Sighing, he finishes pipetting the solution into the plastic tube and dropping it into an empty slot on the wire rack. Zuko pulls out an earbud, looping it around his shoulder before he whirls around in his chair—

—and straight into the bluest eyes he’s ever seen.

They’re deep and mesmerizing and absolutely riveting, and Zuko suddenly flashes back to his introductory chemistry lab and how he made serial dilutions from copper sulfate solution. (And with the ridiculously inaccurate bulb pipet, no less. _Why can’t we just use serological ones?_ ) Except that these eyes are bluer than mere complex ions and pierce straight into Zuko’s soul. If he’s not careful, he might just fall into the mystery.

(And he does lose a little control, with the chair spinning a little farther than Zuko expects.)

“Woah!” and the eyes blink once as a deep voice rollicks into Zuko’s ears and crashes against his eardrums. The guy actually looks concerned. “You okay there?”

“I’m fine,” Zuko replies, making a point to anchor himself on the floor with one Converse-clad foot. (Curse these spinning lab chairs—who even thought that they would be a good idea for a lab in the first place?)

“That’s good to know. Uh, I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

 _Help?_ Now Zuko’s curiosity is growing exponentially. It’s not like you have complete strangers show up to the lab every day, especially with all the security downstairs even before you reach the elevators. That, and Zuko’s pretty sure he recognizes most of the people who work on the seventh floor of the biomedical research building. He’s been a constant fixture in the lab for over three years now and has never seen anyone with striking blue eyes lurking around the lab floor before.

(And _sure_ , it might be the summertime and someone might have brought in another ~~unfortunate~~ student through whatever programs BSS likes to run for undergraduates, but the chances that anyone would willingly take on a position in the _gastroenterology_ department are next to none. Don’t ask Zuko how he knows that—he doesn’t have the time to go through the statistical probabilities with you. Just trust him on that.)

(As to _why_ Zuko’s here? Well, it probably has to do with the fact that he started out in the lab at the tender age of sixteen through a high school internship and never, well, really left. The people are nice, the pay is good, and the promotional opportunities are _endless_. It’s only taken three years for Zuko to ascend from “ _high school test tube dishwasher_ ” to “ _undergraduate mouse manager_ ”. Not bad, honestly.)

Zuko takes a moment to evaluate the situation. The guy standing in front of him doesn’t look much older than Zuko himself, and he’s still got that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed look most people tend to associate with a freshman or a sophomore who hasn’t been knocked down a few pegs by the continuous onslaught of exams during the school year. The guy is wearing an obscenely bright yellow hoodie with “ _IT’S THE QUENCHIEST!_ ” blaring in Comic Sans, with dark joggers and white sneakers rounding out the ensemble.

 _At least he has a sense of lab safety_. It may not be much, but Zuko checks off box after box on his mental lab safety sheet he keeps tucked away in a brain cell.

The guy reaches up to tug at his ponytail, and Zuko watches in fascination as the beads jangle from their places on the hairband. _And at least he has the decency to tie up his hair_ , Zuko begrudgingly admits to himself as he unconsciously pulls back to palm his own tiny ponytail tickling at his neck.

A few awkward seconds of silence pass before Zuko huffs and places his pipette on the bench. There’s nothing quite like a little show of intimidation to show who’s in charge—not like Zuko’s actually _in charge_ , but he does have three years’ worth of lab experience here and this guy—whoever this guy is—looks like he’s never even seen a centrifuge before in his entire life. Zuko sits straight up in the chair and smooths down the front of his white lab coat, making sure that the words “ _Zuko Huo_ ” are displayed prominently in all of their red-thread glory above his heart. (Piandao has always had a flair for the dramatic, and Zuko relishes in the perks that come with the most-senior-lab-member-but-not-actually-the-oldest position.)

“What can I help you with?” _Yeah, Zuko_. _Just like that_. _Smoother than your buffer solutions_.

“Uh, is this Professor Jian’s lab?” The guy asks.

“Oh, you mean Piandao?” Zuko replies, with all the grace of a person who happens to be on a first-name basis with their principal investigator. (Well, he hasn’t technically reached that level yet; he’s still a puny undergraduate, after all. But everyone else in the lab calls Piandao by his first name and no one’s died for it yet, so Zuko figures that it’s okay. Even if it’s just one time.)

“I think so?” The guy scratches his head again, the beads clinking distractingly against one another. “Uh, he just told me to come here to the lab today so that someone could show me around?”

“Hm,” Zuko grunts. He doesn’t remember Piandao saying anything about a new person coming in today, but it’s not like his mentor actually tells anyone what he’s doing. Piandao’s off at some academic conference in Boston and isn’t going to be back until Thursday.

“I’m Sokka, by the way,” the guy says, holding out a hand. Zuko delicately peels the glove off from his right hand before grasping the proffered hand and shaking it briskly. (Years and years of Huo household etiquette have allowed him to perfect the optimal handshake: three shakes at moderate strength.)

“And I’m Zuko, rising sophomore double-majoring in biology and economics,” Zuko rattles off without preamble. Ba Sing Se University is notorious for cultivating a pre-professional atmosphere, and as an unwilling victim of early-onset networking, Zuko’s used to reciting his the entirety of his imaginary business card during any introduction. (It’s not really like he’s going to need a business card once he earns that glorious nameplate with “ _Zuko Huo, M.D. Ph.D._ ” embossed on the front in gold, but that’s definitely going to take a few more years. A few more _very long_ years.)

“Oh! That’s nice. I’m actually majoring in bioengineering. So, kinda like biology, right?” The guy—wait, _Sokka_ —grins, and Zuko thinks it’s the brightest thing he’s seen since the field of wind-kissed sunflowers in the back of his Uncle Iroh’s cabin in the forest.

“That’s nice,” Zuko replies placidly, because as far as he knows, bioengineering is all about tech and robots and weird things that don’t actually have to do with the study of living organisms. ( _But to each their own_ , he supposes.)

(And _bioengineering?_ What’s a bioengineering major doing in the gastroenterology department of BSS?)

But before Zuko can ask another question, the clattering of footsteps and a string of curses signals Joo Dee’s arrival. Zuko watches as the postdoc staggers towards her desk with a cup of Starbucks and a scowl on her face. Joo Dee takes a minute to dump everything on her station before turning her attention to Zuko and Sokka.

“This the new kid?” She asks, eyes weary over her coffee.

“Uh, Professor Jian told me to come here today and—”

“Nevermind the specifics,” Joo Dee interrupts, running a hand through her hair and plastering a disarming smile on her face. “Hello there, I’m Joo Dee! Can you tell me how much experience you have with handling mice?”

“Mice?” Sokka seems flustered, and Zuko uses that distraction as an opportunity to spin back towards the bench, shoving his earbud back in before picking up his aliquot and tilting it back and forth in his hands. BTS cheers him on as he uncaps a Sharpie and jots down the date on a fresh tube. _One down, nineteen to go_.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Sokka—as it turns out—is a quick learner.

 _And a scarily quick one at that_ , Zuko thinks to himself as he sits at his desk and watches the guy swirl a solution of agarose powder and buffer solution in a flask, humming some infernal tune under his breath all the while.

Sokka’s only been at the lab for less than two weeks, but he’s already learned how to make aliquots, how to centrifuge samples, even the coveted how to _Western blot_. (Personally, it had taken Zuko a good month before Piandao had finally allowed him to even _touch_ the membrane, let alone transfer actual samples.)

(And no—Zuko’s definitely not jealous, okay? Definitely not jealous that Sokka gets everything right on the first try.)

(Really. He isn’t.)

(Okay, fine. Maybe a little.)

“Are you sure that’s enough solution for two gels?” Zuko asks, half out of concern and half out of annoyance at how infuriatingly perfect Sokka is in every way.

(Yep. He’s jealous.)

“Yeah, I think so!” Sokka continues swirling the flask between his fingertips, the white powder whirling around like a snowstorm. “It’s actually my first time making a gel, yanno?”

“Mhm.” _And also your first time running one, but I suppose it’ll be perfect. Like everything else you do_.

(Zuko, _stop it_.)

“Any tips on the microwave?”

“I usually set it for two minutes and swirl in fifteen-second intervals.” Zuko’s only half-paying attention to whatever Sokka’s asking. “And holding it up to the light to see if there are strands or solids floating in the solution. Would you like some help?”

“Nah, I think I’m good,” Sokka flashes his teeth as he reaches for the rubber grip dangling on the shelf next to the agarose. “Hey, do you wanna help me pipet some samples later for genotyping?”

And before Zuko can reply or even let out a snippy response about _respecting-lab-seniority_ or _I-am-busy-right-now_ , Sokka’s sending him that sunflower smile again, all rosy and bright.

“Of course. Just let me know when,” Zuko says begrudgingly, because it’s not like he’s working on his spreadsheets upon spreadsheets of data that Jee gleefully informs him are due tomorrow (and seriously, who thought it was a good idea to only issue three GraphPad licenses per lab?), but there isn’t any bite in his words. He turns back to the sea of spreadsheets open on his laptop and resists the urge to keysmash his woes in a fresh Excel spreadsheet. He didn’t stay in the lab to do _spreadsheet work_ —he’s supposed to be doing research here, not this computer-y, electronic-y stuff.

After what seems like hours upon hours of endless streams of numbers and Zuko feels like he’s _this close_ to drowning in the mediocrity of it all, a tap on his shoulder releases him from his inner hell.

“You okay?” Sokka asks when Zuko situates himself over a newly-set gel. “You look a little upset.”

“It’s just the spreadsheets,” Zuko mutters darkly as he snaps on a fresh set of gloves. Sokka hands him a tube rack of samples, and Zuko just pulls on his earbuds again and lets the soothing sounds of f(x) glide over him.

The samples settle into the gel perfectly, neat green rectangles that swim lazily into each gel well. Zuko ejects pipette tip after pipette tip into the discard bin with a certain sense of satisfaction. Pipetting has easily been the most cathartic and relaxing part of his benchwork, and he relishes watching each sample settle into place. It’s mindless tasks like these that give Zuko a chance to breathe, a chance to think about other things without having to do too much at all.

When all the samples are finished, Zuko plugs in the cathode and the anode, nodding happily as he squints at the bubbles forming on the surface of the buffer. Running gels is practically second-nature for him at this point.

“Thanks for helping me out, buddy,” Sokka says when they both pull off their gloves and lean back to survey their work. “It would’ve taken me forever to do this myself.”

“It’s no problem at all,” and Zuko’s all but forgotten about his half-finished spreadsheets as he sits there, _talking_ to Sokka for once.

“Do you have anything else to do right now?” Sokka asks.

 _Your half-finished spreadsheets?_ “Not particularly,” Zuko waves the thought of Excel out of his mind. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go grab some coffee in the break room?”

“That sounds great, actually,” and Zuko’s already pulling off his lab coat and hanging it around his chair. Honestly, any excuse to get away from his spreadsheets is a good excuse.

Fifteen minutes and two cups of jasmine tea later (because Zuko is just not a _coffee person_ , okay?) finds Sokka and Zuko reminiscing about the woes of CHEM101 and giggling about how horrific of a professor Zhao is. It’s so nice to talk to someone who’s actually been through the gauntlet of weed-out STEM classes, and Zuko wonders why he ever decided to see Sokka like a lab rival in the first place.

“I heard a rumor that all the TAs called him _Zhao Gao_ ,” Zuko snickers quietly. “Like a pun on ‘ _terrible_ ’ in Mandarin, right? And the best part is—” and he shifts forward and whispers, “—Zhao doesn’t know Mandarin at all. So they’d just call him _Zhao Gao_ to his face.”

Sokka tries to stifle his laughter, but it’s too late. The few people who’re sitting in the break room shoot contemptuous glances at the two boys laughing up a storm in the corner.

“Really? Is that what it really means?” Sokka chokes out in between chuckles. “ _Terrible?_ They really did that to him.”

“Yup,” Zuko takes another sip of tea to drown out his own hiccups. “ _And_ _he never caught on_.”

“By Tui’s right fin, that is _hilarious_.” Sokka idly stirs his coffee with a spoon. “Ugh. I wish I was there to see it.”

“When did you take his class?”

“Last semester?” Sokka taps his chin thoughtfully. “Honestly, the entire experience was so traumatic for me, I don’t remember half of it.”

“Truthfully? I feel the same way,” Zuko nods. “You know how they teach us about thermodynamics? How entropy is constantly increasing?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure gen chem is singlehandedly responsible for at least half of the entropy in the universe.”

“Bro, that’s a big brain moment. I’d toast to that,” Sokka says, and his mug of coffee clinks merrily against Zuko’s cup of tea.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

“Hey, can I borrow your multichannel?”

Zuko stiffens at the familiar voice hovering a few feet away. Sighing, he puts his Sharpie down on the bench. _You’re on tube #46_ , he sets a mental reminder for himself before he looks up.

And of _course_ it has to be one of the members of Triple J from Jeong Jeong’s lab (well, the Quadruple J, if you include their PI into the mix): June, Jin, and Jackass. And judging by the frantic voice, it’s definitely Jackass.

“I’m not a jackass!”

“Oh, my apologies. Did I say that out loud?” Zuko muses as he fumbles through a drawer on his desk, snickering at Jet’s offended expression. “I think that Jackass is quite appropriate.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Jet wails.

“Because you _are_ a jackass most of the time,” June appears at his shoulder, her white lab coat a stark contrast to her kohl-rimmed eyes and ebony hair. “Like when you ran your gel backwards?”

“Or forgot to thaw your samples before testing them?” And there’s Jin popping out from the other side of the bench, eyes lit in glee. “Or the time you accidentally broke—”

She pauses. Jet looks thoroughly roasted.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Jin laughs, turning towards Zuko. “But seriously, do you have a multichannel we can borrow?”

“I think so?” Zuko digs out the offending equipment and eyes it with distaste. As a self-proclaimed pipette prodigy, Zuko scoffs at the notion of pipetting with anything else than his trusty pipet. He thinks multichannel pipettes are actually more of a hindrance than a helper, and it isn’t unusual to find Zuko painstakingly pipetting two hundred-plus samples into a well plate by hand.

“Great, thanks a lot!” Jin laughs as she skips back to her lab bench, tugging a morose Jet after her. Zuko shakes his head slightly before returning to his tube-labelling task at hand.

He doesn’t realize that June’s still standing there until she speaks. “Hey, where’s your boyfriend?”

 _Huh? Boyfriend?_ Zuko feels a twitch of anxiety pulse through him. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or anyone like that.”

“Uh huh,” and _oh spirits, why is June still standing here?_ “I mean the cute guy with that ponytail who’s always hanging around you.”

“Oh, you mean Sokka?” Zuko relaxes slightly. “I think he’s at some orientation for his program.”

“And _he’s not my boyfriend_ ,” he continues as June leers at him. _I don’t really know my feelings and I don’t want to tell you_ , Zuko wants to say, but he keeps it to himself. June may be a close friend (and lab neighbor for two years), but that doesn’t mean Zuko’s about to spill all of his deepest thoughts out right now.

“Aw, too bad.” June reaches around to tighten her hair bun. “I just thought that, y’all were, like, pretty chummy and stuff.”

“We’re good friends,” Zuko says, and he leaves it at that.

June shrugs as she walks away. “Whatever you say, Zuko. Whatever you say.”

But her words continue to haunt Zuko throughout the rest of the day, even after Sokka comes back from his program orientation with two paper plates filled with all manner of sandwiches and snacks. (Zuko immediately drags him into the break room so they can enjoy their snacks in peace without any nosy lab-compliance officers sniffing around to check if anyone is breaking the strict _no-food-allowed_ policy in the lab space.)

“They gave us free food!” Sokka declares happily as he bites into a tuna sandwich with gusto. “And I figured that you’d probably be hungry or something, so I brought you some lunch, too.”

“I appreciate it very much,” Zuko picks up a potato chip and pops it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. “How was the orientation?”

“Boring,” Sokka yawns. “I think I almost fell asleep until they finally let us have a lunch break.”

Zuko picks up a sandwich. This one looks like ham and cheese. “Sounds absolutely riveting.”

“I don’t think anyone was really paying attention, honestly,” Sokka mumbles around another mouthful of sandwich. “Plus, I was up all night working on Joo Dee’s stupid data set.”

“Sounds like a classic postdoc move, pushing the busy work onto the undergrads like that.”

“Oh, worm. Don’t even get me _started_.” Sokka flops dramatically in his seat. “All I wanna do is to sit back and take a nap, but I can’t even do that.”

“You could, you know. Take a nap, I mean.” Zuko wipes the edges of his mouth with a napkin.

“Ferreal? You serious?”

“I mean, what else do you have to do today?”

Sokka pauses to think. “I told Piandao I was going to run a real-time for Jee’s study.”

“Real-time? You mean qPCR?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Sokka yawns again. “I might need to borrow the multichannel for that. Don’t think I’m gonna be able to focus that well.”

“I can handle that,” Zuko says slowly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He’s pretty much finished with everything else he has to do for the day. “With your qPCR.”

“Really?” And Sokka’s eyes are shining like sea glass. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed running qPCRs,” Zuko shrugs. _But it’s mostly just the pipetting part_ , he thinks to himself. _Pipetting is the best part_.

Sokka’s on his feet in a flash, clutching Zuko’s hands dramatically. “Oh, how will I ever repay you?”

“You don’t need to repay me at all. I’m happy to help out a friend.” Zuko flashes him a small smile.

“ _Ugh_ , don’t get all humble on me now.” Sokka reaches out to pat Zuko on the back. “I’ll take you out for hotpot later, okay? It’ll be AYCE. And on me, of course.”

“Sounds delightful,” Zuko drawls, knowing that he can never pass up an opportunity for free food. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“In the meantime, I’ll be taking a nap right _here_ ,” Sokka announces as he crosses his arms and immediately assumes peak napping position on the table.

And as Sokka’s quiet snores echo in the empty break room, Zuko scurries back to his work bench and pulls out a fresh pair of gloves. He’s got some work to do.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

“Remind me again where we’re going?” Sokka rushes to catch up with Zuko. They’re walking outside, the searing August heat beating down on their backs as they trudge away from the biomedical research building and into the wilderness of campus.

“The mouse house?” Zuko huffs as he carries a bag full of liquid diet and logbooks. It’s anyone’s best guess why Piandao hasn’t coughed up money from his generous endowment to purchase a nice utility cart for the lab—it probably has something to do with Piandao’s creed on “ _building character_ ”.

“I don’t wanna go,” Sokka groans. “It’s hot and humid and I’m _sticky_ and I don’t even _like mice, okay?_ ”

“Joo Dee told me that you almost cried the first time you had to handle a mouse.”

“Did not!”

“Why would Joo Dee lie to me about that?”

“Because! Because she’s Joo Dee!” Sokka throws his hands up in the air. “And in my defense, she literally _handed me a mouse when I wasn’t looking_. Like, straight up dropped it in my hands. _Without warning_. And then she fucking _smiled at me like a maniac_. So I might’ve cussed a little, but what in the fresh fuck was I supposed to do?”

“But they’re so cute and small and _fluffy_ ,” Zuko smirks as he swipes his keycard into the building. He knows that Sokka hasn’t been back in the mouse housing facility ever since that first traumatic incident, but Sokka has a duty to face his fears as a member of Piandao Jian’s lab.

(And also because the postdocs have selfishly hoarded all the cell studies, leaving Zuko and Sokka to sub in whenever someone isn’t available to feed the mice. Which seems to happen on quite a regular basis. No one wants to handle the mice, it seems.)

“I don’t like mice,” Sokka wrinkles his nose as they pull on their PPE. “I’d rather work with fruit flies.”

“Then you’re in the wrong lab, my friend,” Zuko adjusts his mask. He’s never been a big fan of fruit flies, especially with how tiny they are and how annoying they are to deal with. Mai’s always complaining about how she wastes her mornings collecting virgins. ( _Virgins_ as in virgin fruit flies, okay?)

Sokka shoots him a look over his mask, eyes narrowed. “Do we really have to do this?”

“Sokka,” Zuko begins as he presses the button to disable the airlock. “We’re going to get through this together. I promise I won’t even make you scruff a mouse.”

“Pinky promise?” Sokka sticks out a gloved hand when they reach the doorway to the mouse house room.

Zuko rolls his eyes but laces his pinky finger around Sokka’s pinky anyways. “Pinky promise.”

They settle into a routine at the fume hood, with Zuko weighing each mouse and calling out numbers while Sokka writes the weights down in the logbooks. Zuko pours the liquid diet into clean feeding tubes, adding a tube into each cage and checking in on the mice before he returns the cage to the shelf.

“Do you want to look at something with me?” He asks Sokka when they finish wrapping up the weighing and the feeding.

Sokka looks apprehensive. “What?”

Zuko crouches down and peers through the shelves before he retrieves a cage and takes it over to the fume hood. He gestures for Sokka to come over.

“Palms up,” Zuko says without preamble before pulling out a furry white marshmallow of a mouse from the cage and dropping it in Sokka’s palm.

Sokka yelps. “I thought you said you wouldn’t make me handle mice!”

“Correction. I said I wouldn’t make you _scruff_ a mouse. That doesn’t mean I won’t make you _hold_ one.” Zuko picks up the other mouse and places it on the back of his hand, grasping it gently by the tail. “Now hold on to his tail. Fang won’t bite.”

“ _You named a mouse Fang? Why would you do that?_ ”

“It sounded nice at the time.” Zuko frowns as he strokes the mouse he’s holding. “And Fang’s less twitchier compared to Druk.” And—as if in response to his name—Druk trembles on Zuko’s hand.

Fang looks up at Sokka with quivering red eyes. Sokka doesn’t look convinced.

“So? I like to play with the sentinel mice sometimes,” Zuko continues patting Druk from head-to-tail until the mouse calms down. “They’re really nice and soft, unlike the mice we use for our feeding studies.”

(Truthfully, Zuko likes the sentinel mice because they’re soft and squishy and silent, and he doesn’t have to do much except cup them in his hands and stare into their eyes before he calms down from whatever anxieties he has. Animals are more forgiving, more loving than humans can ever be, and Zuko cherishes Druk and Fang for his fond memories in the mouse house.)

“I’m gonna give you another chance,” Sokka decides before rubbing a gloves index finger on Fang’s head. Over the sound of the fume hood, Zuko swears he can hear the mouse chittering in delight, eyes closing as Sokka continues to pet its head.

And later—when Sokka finally puts Fang back into the cage and reluctantly says goodbye to the sentinel mice before leaving—Zuko wanders back to the lab with thoughts in his head and a steady thrum in his chest.

 _This feels nice_.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Zuko’s first kiss happened his freshman year in the annex of the Ember Island Library. It was cold and wet and altogether unpleasant, and he had reeled away from the experience with all the grace of an unsteady foal.

Mai had glanced at him, her tawny eyes tinged with amusement.

“Was it really that bad?” She asked.

Zuko’s long silence told her everything she needed to know.

It’s not that Zuko detests physical affection—it’s just that he prefers to avoid it. One would think that years upon years of emotional and physical detachment in the Huo household would have left Zuko touch-starved and yearning for attention, but he actually prefers it that way. Aside from the quick hugs or headpats that his uncle and his cousin like to give him—

—like the headpat that Lu Ten is giving him right now.

“Stop that,” Zuko grumbles. His older cousin beams cheekily before pulling back, adjusting the lanyard around his neck. They’re sitting in a courtyard near the hospital, with takeout containers of fragrant dry fried string beans and punchy orange chicken wobbling on the table in between them.

“Aw, baby cuz,” Lu Ten grins. “You gotta lighten up a little. Dad always says you’re too serious for your own good.”

Zuko grunts. People around him have always said that he’s too serious, too morose about everything, but that’s just the way Zuko _is_. Lu Ten sighs, and Zuko watches his cousin dangle a piece of orange chicken in between his chopsticks before chewing on it sfotly.

“I really wanted to check in on you earlier to see how you’re doing,” Lu Ten says after a while. “I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy with my rotations.”

“It’s not your fault,” Zuko replies, and he means it. Lu Ten is practically the older brother Zuko always wished he had, and it was a no-brainer to follow his cousin along the route of medicine. Zuko just wants to help people in the way he wished people would’ve helped him when he was younger.

“But still,” Lu Ten crosses his arms slightly. “I told Dad I’d be right here besides you as long as I can.”

“You’ve already done a lot for me, and that means a lot.” _More than you’ll ever know_.

Zuko jumps when Lu Ten claps his hands. “Right! So tell me more about how your lab work’s been going, baby cuz. Is your PI working you overtime?”

“No, Piandao’s been very considerate, actually. It’s actually more the postdocs giving Sokka and me a lot of work.” And just like that, Zuko realizes that Sokka has somehow snuck into his everyday conversation.

“Sokka?” Lu Ten arches an eyebrow.

“My—he’s my—my—” and Zuko’s struggling to find a word to describe _what_ he has with Sokka.

“—my friend,” he finishes lamely.

“Your friend?” Lu Ten’s giving Zuko that look, the look that screams _tell me more_.

“I guess we’re like friends?” Zuko looks around in confusion. “I mean, like, when he first came to the lab, I didn’t like him that much because I thought he was a showoff, but now we work on things together, and he helps me with my spreadsheets and I help him with his tests and data collection and stuff, and we usually eat lunch together. I guess. And sometimes dinner, when there’s too much stuff to do.”

Lu Ten smiles gently at Zuko. “It sounds like you have a wonderful relationship with Sokka.”

_Relationship?_

“Oh, no. It’s not like that. We’re just friends. I think.” But _just friends_ doesn’t sound quite right, either.

“Friendships are just another type of relationship, are they not?” Lu Ten takes a sip from his water bottle.

“I guess so? But—Sokka—Sokka and I— _this is just so frustrating_.”

Lu Ten leans forward and grasps Zuko’s hands. “You don’t need to put a label on everything, Zuko. You don’t need to call it a friendship, and you don’t need to call it a relationship. It can be anything you want, anything you’re most comfortable with.”

“Really?” And a surge of relief rushes through Zuko.

“Yes, really.” Lu Ten’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. “It can be anything you want it to be.”

“ _Oh_.”

“And baby cuz?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is that you have,” and Lu Ten hesitates, “whatever it is that you have, I can tell that it’s special.”

“Yes,” Zuko breathes quietly because, indeed.

 _Sokka is special_.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

When Piandao announces that Sokka’s going to be the one presenting their research at a regional conference, Zuko isn’t mad.

(Well, he’s actually more surprised—more surprised about the _not-getting-mad_ part.)

Zuko’s elated, actually. He knows just how much work Sokka’s put into their project, with all the feeding and testing and weighing of everything, not to mention the mountains of busy work the postdocs heaped on both of them whenever they had a moment to breathe.

“Congratulations,” he whispers to Sokka after the lab meeting, his fingertips ghosting over Sokka’s arm. “I’m so proud of you.”

(And deep in his heart, Zuko knows that Sokka will do a phenomenal job at the conference.)

Zuko goes up to the roof during lunch. (The biomedical research building has, inextricably, a rooftop garden _of all things_.) There’s a light breeze and a smattering of clouds hanging in the lazy sky, and he sits on a bench overlooking the rest of campus and takes a bite of his homemade _onigiri_. Zuko’s earbuds are blasting Twice in his ears, and he nods along to the catchy beat of _TT_ as he watches the clouds frolic in the August sky.

He’s so lost in thought that he barely feels something tugging an earbud out of his ear.

“Twice?” Sokka wrinkles his nose as he puts in the earbud. “Never pegged you for a K-pop fan.”

“I don’t listen to them often,” Zuko pauses Spotify. “I probably just played the wrong playlist by mistake.”

“Nah, I dig it, actually.” Sokka returns the earbud. “Just don’t tell my sister I said that. She thinks that I only listen to emo pop.”

“I like emo pop, too,” Zuko wraps up the earbuds and shoves them into his pocket. “So, what brings you up here?”

Sokka’s sunflower smile blooms in the shade. “I wanted to tell you that I asked Piandao about having _you_ present at the conference instead and that he said yes.”

_Huh?_

“But only if you want to,” Sokka adds hastily. “No pressure, yanno?”

 _Now’s your chance!_ Zuko’s inner self screams wildly. _Now’s your chance to show off everything that you’ve been working on for the past three years!_

But a smaller, quieter part of him pipes up: _don’t you think Sokka deserves it, too?_

“While I’m flattered, I still think you should be the one to do it,” Zuko remarks, because presenting at the conference is the last thing on his mind.

“No, _you_ should do it. You’re the senior lab member, after all.”

“But it’ll be a good learning process for you, Sokka!”

“But you deserve it more than me, Zuko!”

They both stop for a moment to catch their breath, laughing when they realize the sheer absurdity about fighting over a damn _presentation_ , of all things.

“Okay, I’ll do the presentation, but _just for you_ , you hear?” Sokka chuckles, and it’s such a marvelous sound.

“Thank you,” Zuko says shyly before looking back up at the clouds. There are more of them now, ivory-white against the clear blue sky. And looking at Sokka, Zuko thinks he can see the clouds swimming in Sokka’s eyes, clouds of whispered dreams and secret thoughts.

“Whatcha looking at?” Sokka waggles his eyebrows, and Zuko can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“Sokka?”

“Hm?”

“I care a lot about you,” Zuko murmurs, half-hoping the wind caught his revelation and spirited it away.

He isn’t prepared for Sokka scooting closer to him.

“I care about you, too,” Sokka breathes. “I care about you a lot.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Zuko whispers, because there’s nothing quite like hearing someone tell you how much you mean to them, and it’s so brilliant, so intimate, and he feels a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering out of his chest.

Sokka’s smile is crooked as he beams at Zuko. “I figured.”

The words linger in the air for a minute before Zuko musters up the courage to speak again.

“I don’t really like to cuddle, you know.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“And kissing is absolutely out of the question.”

“I’m not gonna ask you any questions.”

“And I don’t really want to—” and Zuko twiddles his fingers, “— _oh, Sokka_ , are you sure you’re okay with someone like me?”

Sokka gently laces their fingers together. “Zuko, I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want. All I care about is the fact that you care about me and I care about you. Is that really too much to ask?”

“No, no,” and Zuko’s laughing as he leans against Sokka’s shoulder. “ _You’re absolutely perfect_.”

“No, _you’re_ perfect. And I’m going to hug you now, if that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Zuko murmurs. “I’d like that.”

Sokka’s hug is warm and soft and fuzzy.

(And Zuko wouldn’t want it any other way.)


End file.
